foreign objects

I’ve considered

Gutting myself.

Replacing each and every

Pink, smooth, functional part

With tired gears,

Chicken wires

And rusted strainers.

Eliminating some of the pressure

Of my misguided intuition.

Because this world has become a difficult thing to read-

No longer bound with familiar materials

Or printed in texts I’ve been

Trained to understand.

It’s unfortunate that my arms are so tired,

Because I know if I laced my fingers around all of

Your necks,

Your calm, sleeping faces

Would soothe me.

Let me breath a little deeper

And walk with a little less caution.

Novembersixteenthtwothousandandeight

sinking stone

it was getting more and more difficult

to rest my eyes

as each minute hid...

my heart still pounding : :: : :: : ::

after countless attempts of

grabbing for you

and returning with hands

full of this quiet room's

stale air.

and so, i call my cat over,

patting my stomach-

imagining i'm floating in a river

and the weight of her soft body

could sink me,

leaving me appropriately in solitude

with pebbles and curious fish.

but when i open my eyes,

she reaches out

and rests her paw on my mouth,

shaking her head-

reminding me that i signed up for this.

junetwelfthtwothousandandnine

Sew these hands

Over this mouth.

I can’t say another word.

No I’m sorry’s or question marks.

Its been proven to weaken me.

Leaves me panting,

Sweating,

Gasping for air,

As though I need for someone to

Save me

When really I just need someone to leave.

But you can’t.

My legs are wrapped around you like shackles

And my beauty deteriorates

With every attempt.

reception

i'm calling out your name

instead of dialing your number

hoping i'll receive a better response,

more recognition,

better reception.

because i'm feeling less and less

like something that's plausible

and more and more like something

that's been lost in the shuffle.

so i play the games

and take the risks.

hoping i'll be standing straight at the end of this.

but we both know this is just knocking me down

to where you are,

which is getting harder and harder

to sympathize with-

and fornicate with-

without

a conscious.

so, go lie beside her.

lie beside her.

don't remind her of me.

it'll make everything cleaner in your break..

i'll just be wandering around a bit...

picking up the broken pieces.

septembernineteenthtwothousandandeight

jf

my legs

squirm their way into your space-

and when they find solid ground,

we sigh-

as though it took

a century

rather than just a minute

trying.

but there are no clocks in our view...

time has been fatherly

and the minutes passed

have treated us kindly.

yet, i search for some measurement of speed-

something to calculate this time,

but the moon's been hiding outside-

far away from under the covers.

and we haven't left the bed long enough

for the heat to escape,

the mattress worn to our shapes.

i lift my lashes to see your face-

tricks me into thinking i could

live without the sun.

i kiss the lips that keep me smiling

and lie defenseless in the web you've spun.

falloftwothousandandfour

landfill in the sky

i want to stumble over the place where love goes...

it has to be hidden somewhere,

like a landfill in the sky-

potentials and promises

thickening together

to form little clouds

that rain down

on the lovely, naive

hand-holding pairs

sharing straws and saliva

without a care in the world.

clumsily putting their pieces together

over and over again

to see if its the right fit,

knowing that if they're meant to be,

they could form a majestic scene,

colorful and untainted-

floral scents and rabbit fur embraces.

don't let go.

don't blink.

freeze this frame.

augustthirteenthtwothousandandten

I won’t wait too long

Won’t keep pacing

To prove my patience.

Because I have a feeling

If I wait long enough to watch

Heartbreak,

You’ll witness a flood.

And we both know that

We’re too exhausted to

Flail our arms in order to keep our

Heads above water.

novembersixteenthtwothousandandeight

jeweled streets

Slither next to my warn body

I’ll ride the pavement home

Splinters of glass

Glitter the sidewalk

Spearing my tires

And leaving me here

To think think think

And wither away

death of a hero

trying to get lost

to give that map on your lap some purpose...

leave you to imagine a note of longing lost at sea,

give you the opportunity to be a hero-

the man with a rescue under his belt-

and dreams of urgent, plea-filled tears

chasing one another down the cheeks

of a pretty young girl.

its really all you need...

the only thing

that will stroke those parts of you

sinfully

when her hands aren't around.

you'll be grateful some day,

when you're mumbling to the barstool you're leaning on

about the days when you were a man,

so capable.

so needed.

so desired.

and you'll grasp at the necklace you wear

with the heads of all of your trophy wives-

dancing on stained strings

that reek of bourbon and solitude-

and you'll curse each of them,

staring straight into each set of their vacant eyes,

for not being there to help you stumble out the door.

octoberninthtwothousandandnine

confetti heart

You’ve been punching holes through my

Paper heart

Expecting me to stand up to your

Perforating fists.

But I’d rather just lie down now,

Patch up these holes

While you use the remnants of my pain

As confetti to celebrate your victory.

No, I don’t want to talk.

I feel more like running.

And crashing.

And orchestrating a funeral

For another attempt’s obvious misfortune.

I feel like I should still keep making

Dinners for two

And set your place at the table

To keep myself from losing hope.

But I’m growing so tired of trying to convince you

Of what I believe.

The love I hope for is as foolish as any other

Fairy tale figure

Or imaginary friend.

I have to kill it in your presence

So I don’t feel like a fool,

And then dream of it as my eyes close every night.

Julytwentyeighthtwothousandandnine

confessional

i'm trying to keep my chest from heaving too noticeably...

keeping my breath from scalding your back

and stirring you in your sleep.

because this may be the one time

i'm courageous enough to use this quiet space

between our bodies

for confessions,

and a safe place for these fears.

you'll be leaving me soon.

it's in the air-

heavier than spring but not nearly as sweet.

i'll continue to climb up and down your patience

like its something sculpted out of concrete-

strong enough to hold my weight,

my bullying,

the temper in my eyes.

i'm reminded every time someone walks away

that no one needs to sit through this.

there's no obligation-

no guarantee of my spirit rising with the new day's sun.

and i've been testing your generosity,

your kindness....

your hope of change.

but i told you i was no good at this.

I keep flipping these coins

Trying to decide whether I should try

And love you.

But I keep forgetting what stands for heads

And what stands for tails.

And I’m certain that I was cursed

With the inability to connect

The passions of my heart,

Mind

And hands.

Novembereleventhtwothousandandeight

cement pillow

i'm claustrophobic, crawling in my own space.

trying to train myself to pick up my messes,

throw away the things that no longer apply

or pertain

to this life of mine anymore.

and i keep imagining that if i write down this clutter,

someone will be kind enough to throw it out to the curb

and let me rest peacefully.

but, it's here. and i'm exhausted.

it's as though too many boxes of your memory

can throw me off,

have me tripping over myself.

and i just want to be alone.

without you knocking on my skull...

promising-

threatening-

that you'll be back in the morning

just to remind me of what i deserve

without ever telling me why.

i can't make sense of these riddles.

i'm tired of suggestive glances,

or reliving the taunting of childhood-

brass knuckles and shackles vs sticks and stones.

i hate to wish you misery...

but i want to see your sadness in the sky.

i want it to turn your pillow into cement

the moment your head is sleepy.

this makes me feel cruel....

leaves everything tasting bitter.

and forcing myself to hate something

i've always loved

has me hiding in the dark, stone caves of my chest

to keep from being seen or tempted.

junetwentysixthtwothousandandseven

claimed territory

i'd love to be sentimental

and clean all of these hurtful words

with the libations that allowed me

to smile through the dawn,

but the sound of your voice

is breaking all that

is sweet and clever-

i'll just form another memory in my sleep.

something that will allow me to love you when i wake-

to start another day where you exist

breaking, begging, stammering

through your excuses

and sore efforts.

it's become quite a familiar fortress i've built around my mornings-

awaking to find you've risen,

forgetting thoughts of nights prior,

when i lied in your mind

as a carcass

a whore

something worth beating

and screaming at

without hesitating.

you'll grasp at my tired thighs

and swollen lips

as though they are yours...

the only thing you seem to be accountable for.

claiming territory you'll never understand

or sympathize with.

its nearly poison to

miss you...

wishing you were warm

instead of cold...

and soft and quiet

instead of hard and so loud...

januarythirdtwothousandandten

bound with lace

exposing teeth and tail-

and tragically waiting for a duel.

something to keep me from sleep.

i'm tired of hearing about the hope you give tomorrow.

let the sun rise in your mind...

lights are out here.

i want to fornicate with your memory.

take condensed versions of you in pill form

and lie comatose on the floor.

please leave me.

please let me sleep.

i want to remember what it felt like.

i want to lie in its warmth.

i want to lose control over my shaky knees

and collapse from that nightly killing.

but you're busy killing other parts of me now...

things that are nearly as easily replaced or repaired.

to keep people from focusing on the blood,

i'll bind my wounds with lace...

anything to maintain that suitable air

of innocence and beauty.

ah, the foolish efforts we make to save face.

and the efforts we dont...

angry winter

I’ve been trying to keep my eyes closed

through the majority of this.

hoping that if we take a quick turn

or need to stop in our tracks,

you'll have my hand

and keep me from running into the sun.

its obvious to me

that's where we're headed.

it's the only thing that explains

how the heat from your hand

seems to brand my skin

and keep my smile warm

through such an angry winter.

questioning corpses...

i'd like to let the dead lie... but there's always something intriguing about poking at things that are no longer a risk- no longer a threat. if people were smart, they'd cremate things after killing them. there isn't as much of a risk of foul play with ashes... they don't offer enough attachment to their original form and shape. they create a disconnect from what they once stood for. playing with ashes isn't nearly as satisfying. someday i'll take my own advice and put all that i've killed up in flames. for now, i harass.

*i have hurt no animals in the making of this post. i promise.